


I Call Myself

by Archedes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Background McGenji, Character Study, Found Family, Gen, Humor, Light-Hearted, Post-Recall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:52:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archedes/pseuds/Archedes
Summary: He’s never had much luck with family, and sometimes—at night, half asleep, with McCree breathing deep beneath him, chest rising and falling in long intervals—he wonders how he ended up with what he has now. McCree and Zenyatta too, and now everyone else. More people content to be around him while expecting nothing in return. He’s still trying to get used to it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gee/gifts).



> this one goes out to gee. for mcgenji week, day 5 "family". a lot happier than the talon au, though the actual mcgenji is admittedly peripheral. sorry about that.

The mech is a massive pink monstrosity, plastered from head to toe with the logos of Hana’s various sponsors. The paint job is pristine; there is not a single scratch or dent in the hull, which leads Genji to believe that the stylization is fairly new. By comparison, the lounge-style seat is well-used, molded to the faded silhouette of its operator’s body. The left trigger’s button is graying, the red worn away by constant use. Hana notices his looking, her eyes sharp even though she presents herself as disinterested, nose buried in her handheld game.

“You like the color? It’s fuchsia,” she says, without glancing up, in lilting Korean. Assuming. He could pretend not to understand, but he imagines she read his file at least as carefully as he had read hers. His family once had a considerable presence in Busan. She must have recognized his name, at least.

“Is this the standard for your country’s military?” he asks, his own Korean metallic and tinny.

Hana smiles down at her screen. “I wish. They let me put my own touches on MEKA when I told them I wanted to join up with Overwatch.” She shuts the handheld with a snap, and it disappears into the billowing pocket of her oversized hoodie. “What are your specs?” She squints at him, unabashedly examining his body. He is not wearing his armor plating, leaving only his synthetic-fiber exoskeleton for her roving eyes.

Genji actually feels a little embarrassed. “My specs?”

“Yeah. Do you have a hydraulics system in your legs? Electricity? What do you run on? How much power does your core generate? Do you need to charge?” The questions spill out with unrestrained curiosity and enthusiasm. “You’re just so _cool_. I have to know. MEKA is top of the line, but you’re in a whole different league, yeah?”

When Fareeha had come to Gibraltar to join them, it had taken her two weeks just to be able to look directly at Genji, clearly uncertain about how to handle his peculiar circumstances. This is the first conversation he has ever had with Hana. “I…” he blanches, taken off-guard. “You would have to ask Doctor Ziegler about that. My understanding is unfortunately limited to what is necessary for battlefield repairs.” He remembers Angela trying to explain to him once, in lavish detail, the intricacies of his new body. Suffice to say, he has retained very little of it.

Hana scrunches her face, displeased. He cannot remember the last time he has spoken to someone so _animated_. “What happens if you’re injured in a place you can’t reach?” she continues, eager for any inch of information.

“My partner would handle it, then.”

“Oh. The cowboy?” She pretends to adjust the brim of a hat, which causes Genji to smile behind his visor.

“Yes. McCree.”

“Are all Americans so hairy?” That actually gets a laugh from him.

“I think he might be a special case.” A string of cords plays from Hana, and she pulls her phone out. Genji wonders how many devices she has stored in that hoodie. She purses her lips as she reads the message.

“Gotta go. Winston’s telling me he has to put me into the computers or whatever.” She gives her mech a pat on the flank before turning to the warehouse door. “See you later, _ahjussi_.” Her farewell is singsong and sly, punctuated with a hand raised in goodbye as she walks out.

“I am not _old_ ,” Genji finds himself calling after her, an old reflex to familiar teasing that he had almost forgotten.

 

—

 

It takes a month for Hana’s mail to arrive, and when it does it takes up the entire dining room. Brightly decorated boxes of all sizes, huge bouquets, and edible arrangements kept fresh with biotic fields. When Genji walks in, Mei has already settled down at the table with a box of chocolate-covered strawberries, delighted. Hana is at the head, sifting through a mountain of envelopes. Most are pink and some are decorated with stickers—the old art of letter-writing confined to cutesy methods of contacting one’s idols.

“Want to help me go through all this?” Hana asks when she notices, again in Korean. She shoves a pile of fan-letters marked with red Xs. “These are from my boy fans. Throw them in the trash if they’re gross.”

Genji slides into a seat next to her, across from Mei. He plucks a piece of melon from one of the arrangements, clicking off his visor so he can pop it in his mouth. To her credit, Hana spares his face only a passing glance before returning to her letters. “What about those?” He nods to the pile she’s kept for herself.

“They’re from my girl fans and little kids. I always read them.”

“Ah. Are you reading the boy ones too?” He points to the parcels sitting in front of Mei.

She laughs, her Korean much smoother than Genji’s. “Of course not. Those are all for you, Genji-san.”

Genji picks up an envelope at random and has a good idea of what to expect. It smells faintly of cologne, handwritten Hangul characters scrawling grandiosely across the page. The letter is very romantic with only the vaguest, most tasteful allusions to the author’s groin. Amusing. Genji tears it into two neat pieces, then four, before laying it to rest in the waste bin.

“No good?” Hana pops her gum curiously.

It reminds Genji of something he might have written years before, flirty and headstrong and too confident that he would get what he wanted. “No.”

“Most of them are like that. I usually just throw them all away?”

“Then why am I reading them?”

“We thought you might get a kick out of them,” Hana says innocently, though Mei’s accompanying snort is a touch more suspect.

“Thank you for thinking of me.”

The next few letters are cruder, tasteless, like their recipient is not a 19 year old girl. Genji gets halfway through before condemning all of them to the garbage. When he looks up, Mei and Hana are fawning over something they took out of one of the packages. Mei holds it up for him: it’s a poorly made sweater with what looks like a depressed white cat on the front. It takes him a few minutes to realize that it is supposed to be Hana’s rabbit mascot.

“Isn’t it cute?” Hana asks brightly. “This little girl made it with her mom.”

Genji has trouble picturing an uglier piece of clothing (it has been some time since he’s looked through McCree’s closet). “Yes,” he says politely. “So you don’t read the boy fan mail at all?”

“No, not anymore. It’s all stupid stuff, usually. Girls, at least, are more thoughtful and cute when they try to flirt with me.”

“Ah.” Genji wonders how many girls used to think that about him. Truth be told, it’s not something he’s thought much about before. After reading so many trashy letters, however, he finds himself feeling a bit nauseous. He would ask McCree about it later; he hopes he has never been that sleazy, even in the height of his hedonism.

“Did you find any good material for Jesse in there?” Mei’s smile is _almost_ sunny enough to mask the blatant jab.

“Gross,” Hana adds.

“Gross?” Genji tries not to look affronted.

“He’s so _old_. I guess that’s why he’s good for you. All his body hair can keep you warm, too.”

Mei laughs loudly, but Genji has already committed himself to being offended. “You’re older than me,” he tells her, exasperated.

“I’m 31!”

“Yes, maybe five years ago before you turned into an ice cube.”

 Mei waves her hand dismissively. “You’ve been spending too much time with Angela. Besides, we mean it with love!”

“Yeah?” Genji looks doubtful.

“Jesse’s cool. He let me shoot his gun.” Hana pops her gum again, grinning. “But, come on. With how he dresses, it’s just too easy.”

“I haven’t heard you make a single cowboy joke.”

“Too obvious. I like a challenge.”

Genji breaks character at that, unable to keep himself from laughing.  “Be careful. Jesse is very sensitive.”

“Funny. He told me the same thing.” She finally notices that his letters are gone. “Had enough?”

“I don’t think I like your boy fans very much,” he admits.

“Yeah. Me neither.”

“Am I free to go?”

“Sure. Tell Cowboy I said hi.” Genji gets to his feet, snatching another piece of melon as he goes. Hana’s voice gives him pause: “And _old man—_ ”

Genji’s shoulders slump in a long, quiet sigh,

“—teach me how to use that sword sometime, okay?”

 

—

 

“You been spendin’ an awful lot of time with that kid lately,” McCree comments, watching with his head propped up as Genji removes his armor. There are several new scratches to join his growing collection.

“Feeling neglected?”

“You already know I’d like to be with you all the time if that was in any way realistic.” Sometimes McCree is so earnest that Genji actually feels bad for teasing. “Just thought it was funny, is all.”

“Funny?”

“She reminds me of you, kinda, y’know? How you were back in Overwatch when you weren’t busy bein’ angry and grumpy.”

Genji doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he puts his armor down and slides the case neatly under the bed. Outside the open window, he can hear Reinhardt’s booming voice and the sound of gunfire. Genji is still unaccustomed to these little reminders that he is, once again, part of something. “I had a lot on my mind back then.”

“I know, honey.” McCree is gentle—his voice and the hand that rubs warm circles on the small of Genji’s back.

 

—

 

Their practice session lasts about twenty minutes before Hana slices her finger open and calls it quits. From across the field, the metal practice droid stands silent and untouched, its blank face somehow managing to seem smug. The cut isn’t deep, though it weeps openly and has already seeped through the bandages Genji has applied to it.

“This sucks,” Hana complains, and she uses her injured finger to flip off the dummy. It sways slightly in the breeze, its spring stand creaking. “How am I supposed to _game_?”

Genji disguises his laugh with a cough and instead pretends to be sympathetic.  “The gel will have it mostly healed by tomorrow.”

“I had a _stream_ scheduled for tonight, _ahjussi_.”

“Oh. A stream? Is that one of you kids’ slang words?”

“God, you’re not funny.” She shoots him a sideward glance, eyes dipping low to where his hands are folded on his lap. “You used to game, right? In Busan? I know your family vacationed there.”

“A long time ago,” Genji replies innocently. “I wasn’t very good.”

“You know the big seaside arcade there? I had the top scores on all of the machines except for one. There was this stupid guy on one of the Street Fighters I could never beat.”

“Ah,” he hums noncommittally.

She squints. He whistles and pretends to inspect a scuff on the back of his hand. Hana only tolerates that for about ten minutes before pointing an accusatory finger at his uncovered face. “Are you COOL69?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. I knew it. That’s a really bad handle, you know?”

“I thought it was funny.”

“It really isn’t. How did you even get a score that high?”

“I wish I knew,” he sighs wistfully. “I was very drunk at the time.” In all honesty, he scarcely remembered any of his time in Busan. Vacationing with his family often meant—for him—a break from sobriety.

“Wow.” Hana goes quiet for a little while, busies herself with looking at her injured hand. Slowly, she lifts it up. “Don’t move. I want to try something.” Then she moves to sit right in front of him. In one quick motion, she leans over and flicks him on the nose. Hard.

Genji jerks back, automatically rubbing the abused spot. “What?” is all he can manage to get out, more surprised than anything. He can already feel a small welt beginning to form on the tip of his nose. He had time enough to move, but he was more interested in _why_.

“Do you know a guy named So Bon Seung?”

“Uh…no…”

“Well he knows you. He was my teacher, yeah? He got me into gaming and taught me the basics back when I was a kid.” She rubs her nose, giving him a hard look. “He has a sister. Mi Seo. You know her?”

“No.” Genji has no idea where she’s going with this.

“Well you should. She was half in love with _Shimada Genji_ by the time you left Busan. She was really devastated when you didn’t take her with you. I guess you didn’t send her the memo where she was just one of your flings, right?”

Genji cannot remember the last time he has been rendered so utterly speechless. Perhaps what shames him the most is the knowledge that he has done this so many times that every instance has long since blended together. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it sounds lame even to his own ears. “I…am no longer that man.”

“I figured. You look a lot different now. I wasn’t even sure you were the same guy until I looked you up in Athena’s database. If anyone asks, though, I punched you in the face.”

“Why didn’t you?” Genji doesn’t know if he would have allowed her to do it in the first place, but he supposes it’s a moot point now.

“It would have hurt my hand. Besides. I like you, even though I still had to do that for Bon Seung.”

Genji rubs his nose. His fingers are cold against the inflamed skin, soothing. Hana watches him, biting at one of her thumbnails. “You know,” she says again, “all this time, I’ve been trying to figure you out. You really don’t seem like the type of person to have done that sort of thing.”

He offers her a bitter little smile. “Life has a way of happening to you, whether you like it or not. But I am…better for it, I suppose.”

“You mean what your brother did? To you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. His loss.”

Genji gives her a puzzled look. “I always wanted a brother,” Hana admits, and before he can discern her tone, she is climbing to her feet. She looks down at him and sticks her tongue out. “If he doesn’t want his, then more for me.”

It takes a few moments for what she’s saying to hit him. That she would see him that way, even knowing the type of person he used to be… Genji finds himself struggling to process it. Hana notices the expression he must be making, because she quickly adds: “Uh. Don’t be weird about it, okay? I’m leaving now.”

He’s actually grateful for it, and he watches her receding back with a heady mixture of emotions that he can’t quite name. He’s never had much luck with family, and sometimes—at night, half asleep, with McCree breathing deep beneath him, chest rising and falling in long intervals—he wonders how he ended up with what he has now. McCree and Zenyatta too, and now everyone else. More people content to be around him while expecting nothing in return. He’s still trying to get used to it.

When Hana reaches the Gibraltar base in the distance, she goes inside without looking back.


End file.
